


The Masterpiece Society

by kaasknot



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: All hurt no comfort, Angst, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dehumanization, Electrostimulation, Eugenics, Forced Ejaculation, Forced Sterilization, Humiliation, Objectification, Other, Prostate Milking, Slavery, Sounding, Voyeurism, Xeno, dubcon, extremely bad medical ethics, forced/coerced sexual medical procedures, in which kaa names star wars fics after star trek episodes because why the eff not, pov: villain, slight watersports, speciesism/racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 01:48:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11392824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaasknot/pseuds/kaasknot
Summary: Jango Fett is dead, and new gene donors are required to ensure the future of the Grand Army of the Republic. Rex will do his duty.





	The Masterpiece Society

**Author's Note:**

> This is an exploration of the shittier end of the sliding scale of suck that is the clones' lives. It's also meant to titillate. If you can't reconcile those, this fic is not for you.

Nala Se stood by the entrance to the landing platform. It was thundering outside, the ocean beyond the domes of Tipoca City lashed into a fury. Nala Se regarded it with distaste. She regarded the approaching clone with distaste, also. He was bent into the wind, his absurd Mandalorian affectation flapping about his legs. Would that DNA collection was a less intrusive exercise.

The clone stepped inside, shedding water from his armor. It was scuffed and hashmarked, showing every inch of its hard use, even though it had only been issued a scant four months prior. Nala Se did not understand why they insisted on leaving their equipment so battered. It was unsightly and spoke poorly to their personal hygiene. The Jedi permitted it, however, and the ways in which the customer chose to dispense with their purchases were none of Nala Se’s concern. The clone took off his helmet.

Of course. This was one of the phenotypic variants. Nala Se remembered now: blond hair. With his helmet off, it was impossible to miss. He was not the only clone with such flaws; their performance was unaffected, and so the mutations were permitted to remain--but it was irritating nonetheless. The uniform perfection of Nala Se’s work was tarnished with each blond head or blue eye. It had not been _her_ desire to permit them to live, but other, more pragmatic voices had won out: Would not their differences drive them to excel? That leniency seemed to have served this clone well: he was one of their most highly-anticipated CT donors.

“CT-7567,” she said.

“It’s Rex, please, ma’am.”

“Of course. Please follow me.”

She led him down the Certrilly Corridor. It was a superb example of Post-Deluge color-play, the finest in the capital. Nala Se was gratified that her work permitted her to use it regularly. Humans, like the one pacing his stumpy, leaden-footed way beside her, could not see in the ultraviolet spectrum. She pitied them. Theirs must be a dark, unlovely world.

“Why am I here, ma’am?”

Their voices, at least, were pleasant. For that, Nala Se was relieved; she spoke with many clones each day. “You have been selected as a gene donor for the next generation of CT units. We are in a shortfall of samples, and your quarterly tests have proven you exemplary.”

Nala Se had, by necessity, become an expert at reading human facial expressions. The one that came over CT-7567’s face seemed to mimic surprise, or perhaps hope. Fear was also possible. “A gene donor,” he said softly. “Will I be able to see them?”

“See who?”

“My--the units I’ll father.”

“Why should you wish to?”

“Well, I… It’d be.” He cleared his throat. “Didn’t Jango?”

“There were far too many for him to bother. Besides, he had his son to raise.”

“Oh.” CT-7567’s expression passed beyond her ability to categorize. There was perhaps longing, but also anger, which made little sense. There was no reason for a clone to be angry. “Thank you,” he finally said, then fell silent. He remained silent for the rest of the journey to the testing center. Nala Se spent it mentally outlining a precis for grant funding on research into the benefits of recessive gene expression in a homogeneous pool.

The Toshawhu Medical Research Center was an unlovely building. Though it flowed well with the architecture around it--Prime Minister Lama Su would never have commissioned a truly ugly building--it was unbearably plain. Nala Se had heard this was to remind those entering its walls that theirs was a solemn duty: the preservation of Kamino. She cared little. Just as green-eyed children were rightly culled for failing to meet the Standard of Kaminoan Genic Purity, so too should this eyesore be demolished.

CT-7567 followed her into its stark hallways without a word. The designated exam room was deep in the belly of the TMRC, far from any exterior windows. Nala Se ushered CT-7567 inside. A number of techs were waiting, and her project partner, Sirun Do, was waiting as well.

“CT-7567,” he said. “Please remove your armor. You will not require it for the test.”

“It’s Rex,” CT-7567 said. “And what test?”

Sirun Do glanced to Nala Se, hesitation swirling through the colors in his eyes.

“Your medical and PT examinations have provided us with enough data to ensure your candidacy,” Nala Se answered. “There is one more, however, that will finalize it.”

CT-7567’s hands slowed on the clamps of his breastplate. “What does this test consist of?”

Nala Se bobbed her head in irritation. “Your armor, please.”

He complied, though with a mutinous expression. He stacked the plates neatly on the table provided. “Where do you want me?”

“Your body glove as well. You will need to be naked for this procedure.”

His reluctance was puzzling. Nala Se had spent a great deal of time observing clone behavior; they showed little compunction toward nudity with their own kind, stripping to the skin easily and often, and with no sign of reticence. Perhaps this casual exhibition did not extend to non-clones. An interesting observation; it indicated a rudimentary culture. Perhaps they were not as animalistic as they seemed.

The body glove ended up on the table. CT-7567 stood hunched in the center of the room, his hands in fists at his sides.

Human bodies had been a source of fascination and disgust to Nala Se ever since the Republic order had begun production, and only worsened upon the maturation of the first generation of clones. They were so thick and hairy. Worse, their genitalia, an utterly unappealing, flabby mass dangling at the confluence of their thighs, were completely vulnerable. How Humans had attained preeminence in Galactic politics was astounding, if this was the care they paid to their own genetic material. Nala Se pitied Human females--or she would, if she thought there was any chance of them being better formed. Her few encounters with the female training sergeants hadn’t given her much hope.

One quality, however, had recommended Humanity: their resilience. As a geneticist and a Kaminoan, Nala Se could respect a species with fine-tuned adaptability; it was one her own species lacked. It was the _only_ advantage Humans held over Kaminoans.

“Sit on the table, please,” Nala Se said. When CT-7567 complied, she turned to Sirun Do. “Do you have the necessary equipment?”

“Yes,” Sirun Do replied, matching her quiet tone. “Do you want me to administer the procedure?”

“If you don’t mind. After last time, I would prefer to return to my position as observer.”

“No, I understand fully.” His eyes were filled with sympathy. “You are a geneticist, after all. You should not be expected to conduct experiments such as these. It was unreasonable that they expected it of you.”

“Your compassion gratifies me.”

“Of course.”

A tech handed Sirun Do a small bundle wrapped in sterile gauze and a lubricant-filled syringe. CT-7567 watched everything with wide eyes--wide for a Human, at any rate. Inexplicably, for the room was warm, his pilomotor reflex had activated. It made him look like a plucked ameru.

Humans seemed so large, when standing apart; their stocky, muscular bodies conveyed a sense of strength and presence. It was only when juxtaposed beside a Kaminoan than their minuscule stature was revealed. Sirun Do took CT-7567’s flaccid penis, a fat, graceless finger of flesh, vulnerable and small against the bone-pale austerity of Sirun Do’s hand, and injected lubricant down the urethra. CT-7567 made a faint noise, but no protest; his cheeks were dull red. Vasodilation, Nala Se recalled; all the clones were prone to it. She was uncertain why, though she had learned it most often indicated embarrassment.

Sirun Do was quick and efficient. He was a medical doctor, his specialty the primary care of the clone army. He was a good match for Nala Se, who knew best the theory of clones, not their flesh. He unwrapped the gauze, revealing a catheter and catchment pouch. He unwound the tubing and inserted the catheter into CT-7567’s body with the precision and speed of long experience. CT-7567 squirmed, making choked sounds of distress. Discomfort couldn’t be avoided, however: the urethra of the human male was absurdly long, and the tissue that lined it needlessly sensitive. Nala Se was glad he restrained his whining. As long as he didn’t attempt to attack Sirun Do, Nala Se was disinterested in him beyond his use as a test subject.

“The hell was that for!” CT-7567 demanded.

Alas. It was too much to hope that he would remain entirely silent.

“We must ensure your bladder is empty before we can proceed,” Sirun Do answered. He had far more patience for dealing with his charges than Nala Se. “The presence of urine would taint a semen sample.”

“Oh.” CT-7567’s face flushed further, and Nala Se gave up trying to guess why.

Fascination drew her gaze back to his penis. The catheter was made of soft plastoid, but it was stiff enough to hold the offending member out from his body in a pseudo-erection. His glans was shiny with lubricant, his urethra stretched tight and irritated around the tubing that penetrated it. Surely it must be uncomfortable. Could he feel it all the way into his bladder? Catheters were a uniquely Human need; Kaminoans passed their waste as compressed, dry solids, which were vastly easier to clean up after.

No sooner had Sirun Do inserted the catheter fully than a gush of urine flowed down the tube and into the catchment bag. CT-7567 trembled. “It was a long flight,” he said in a low voice.

Sirun Do waited a moment longer to make sure CT-7567’s bladder was fully drained, then removed the catheter in one smooth tug. CT-7567 gasped and followed with his hips, as though Sirun Do were dragging him along; a grimace plastered itself over his features. Nala Se watched in surprise as the tube left his body. She could see its passage through the shaft of his penis, leaving soft flesh in its wake. A light sheen of sweat came over CT-7567’s skin. “Hope that’s the worst of it,” he said, baring his teeth. A smile. He covered his genitals as soon as Sirun Do moved away from them. So far, every clone they had collected a sample from had done the same. Nala Se wondered if it was instinct, to protect their vulnerable genetic material.

“Worst of what?” Sirun Do asked, handing the catheter and its attached bag of urine to a tech to test for acidity.

CT-7567 looked uncertain. “Well… the worst of the testing. The most uncomfortable part.”

Sirun Do considered. “The electrostimulation of your prostate may be more uncomfortable than a catheter.”

“The _what_?”

“Urine acidity normal,” the tech said, and Sirun Do nodded.

“Please get on the table, CT-7567.”

“It’s _Rex_ ,” he said, a strained note in his voice. “What did you say you were--electro-something of--”

“Of your prostate,” Sirun Do answered. “It is the most efficient way to gain a high-sperm count sample.”

“Why not just have me jerk into a cup?” CT-7567 said desperately.

“That is inefficient,” Nala Se said, to cover for Sirun Do’s disgusted silence. “This is a superior way. The pain will be negligible.”

CT-7567 tensed, and Nala Se edged closer to the panic button in the corner. It would bring orderlies with straps and stunners.

“Get on the table, CT-7567,” Sirun Do said. “It will be easier on all of us if you cooperate.”

There was a tense, loaded silence as CT-7567 considered, his eyes flicking between Nala Se, Sirun Do, and the techs that surrounded him. Humans were stronger than Kaminoans, pound-for-pound, and clones were trained to neutralize multiple species. Should he decide to fight, it would be difficult to subdue him.

Finally, he nodded. “Okay.”

“Excellent. Please get on the table. Hands and knees, if you don’t mind, for easier access.”

CT-7567’s breathing hitched. He pulled his hand away from his groin and complied, climbing onto the table with stiff limbs. Clones were normally very graceful, trained to intense physicality as soon as they were decanted; that CT-7567 was not now was curious. Curious, but not unexpected. Nala Se stepped aside for a better view of the proceedings. CT-7567’s eyes were closed, his head lowered so she could not read his expression. His hands were white-knuckled against the durasteel of the exam table, and the muscles of his thighs and buttocks were rigid. His genitals quivered beneath his belly.

A tech brought the electro-stim cart. It was a simple device: a smooth probe connected to a regulator, where the operator could adjust the voltage. Sirun Do wasted no time. He set the first charge, then applied lubricant to CT-7567’s anus. Nala Se could not see what he did from her angle, but CT-7567’s head shot up, his eyes snapped open, and his cheeks flushed dark with blood. He gritted his teeth as Sirun Do continued his ministrations.

“You must relax,” Sirun Do said. “Tensing will only make it go more slowly.”

CT-7567 made no reply. He did, however, run through a breathing pattern Nala Se had seen taught to cadets to help them manage their fear in combat. It seemed to help: the tension seeped from his muscles. Sirun Do’s motions grew easier, and a moment later he removed his hand. He lubricated the probe.

“First cycle, twelve volts,” he said to the tech. “Duration, three seconds.” He inserted the probe--Nala Se almost laughed at the comical widening of CT-7567’s eyes--then flipped the switch.

The probe made no sound as it ran, but Nala Se fancied she could hear it anyway. A temor ran up CT-7567’s body. He jerked against the table; Nala Se counted down the seconds in her mind as she observed. His penis rose slightly, but did not fill to full erection. Sirun Do switched off the electro-stim machine.

“No erection,” Nala Se reported.

CT-7567’s eyes were wide, almost fearful. His breath came roughly. “What the hell,” he said.

“Second cycle, twelve volts,” Sirun Do said to the tech, who dutifully wrote it down. “Four second duration.”

This time, CT-7567 made a faint sound, possibly of pain. It was difficult to judge at such low voltages, especially as Nala Se had heard that Humans found stimulation of the prostate to be pleasurable. The clones certainly had no trouble stimulating their prostates on their own. She bared her teeth in unconscious revulsion.

By the fourth cycle, CT-7567 had attained erection. Nala Se stared at it. As bizarre as their unaroused organs were, far stranger were they during sexual excitement. When Kaminoans wished to reproduce, the woman laid her eggs in a saline bath, and her mate expressed his sperm over them. There were no external parts. Nothing changed size, as this did. To imagine--Human females allowed this organ, the same organ through which the males of their species passed waste, to enter their bodies. It defied credibility. Nala Se watched CT-7567’s penis stiffen and begin to weep with the same morbid curiosity she reserved for watching aiwhas mate.

By now, however, CT-7567 seemed to be experiencing some amount of distress. Perhaps it was the electricity-induced spasms. They could be wearing. His arms were shaking, and his face was red. Sweat poured down his forehead. When Sirun Do applied the probe once more, a thin, whining groan forced its way out from around the lip he had clenched between his teeth.

“Fuck, how much longer is this going to take!” he grated.

“Until you attain orgasm,” Sirun Do replied. “Do you feel any heat build-up?”

“Feels like my guts are liquefying.”

“Answer the question, please.”

CT-7567 gave a small, weak sigh. “No. No heat.”

Two more cycles later, and CT-7567 gave his first proper scream. Nala Se was impressed. His pain threshold was higher than most. He was also very close to orgasm, judging by how his testes had pulled toward his body.

“Just one more, I think,” Sirun Do said. “The cup, if you please.” A tech held a wide-mouthed flask beneath CT-7567. Regardless of the unattractiveness of Human bodies, Nala Se found herself craning to see better. Orgasmic ejaculation was riveting; how Human males managed to throw their semen with such force, even without the aid of electricity, was remarkable.

CT-7567 said nothing. His face was damp with sweat and tears, though he restrained his sobs as best he could. He was wracked with tremors, his penis angry and swollen between his thighs. He gripped the edges of the table so tightly that Nala Se worried the metal might bend.

“Final run, twenty volts,” Sirun Do said. “Ten seconds.”

CT-7567’s agonized cry was accompanied by the soft splatter of his semen hitting the cup. His entire body clenched tight beneath the weight of electricity pummeling his flesh; it was audible at this voltage, a low hum, muffled by his rectum. Strings of semen poured out of him. Nala Se watched the spasms as they occurred, his testes burrowing up into his body and his erection leaping like a fish on the line. By the time Sirun Do turned off the electro-stim, CT-7567 was shaking so hard that he shook the table. The tech barely removed the cup before he collapsed face-first.

“Very good,” Sirun Do said, taking the proffered sample. He handed it off to Nala Se.

She turned to the lab bench and made three slides. The room was silent but for CT-7567’s raspy breathing, the occasional rattle as the table shook from his aftershocks, and the quiet conversation of Sirun Do and the techs. She examined each of the slides, exhaustively, before straightening with a pleased tilt of her head. “There is no sign of cell motility. CT-7567 is approved for donation.”

“What?”

She turned to see CT-7567, recovered enough to push up to his elbow to look at her. “What does that mean, ‘no cell motility’?”

“It means your sperm are entirely inert,” Sirun Do answered for her. “In effect, they are dead.”

There was a heavy silence. Horror contorted CT-7567’s features. “I’m--I’m--”

“You’re sterile, yes.” Nala Se watched curiously. “This distresses you.”

“I can’t have children.” CT-7567’s voice cracked like an adolescent’s.

Nala Se blinked slowly, unimpressed. “You are property of the Grand Army of the Republic and Lipana Gene Tech. The dissemination of your trademarked genetic template is not in your design. Get off the table, please. We have to take further samples.”

“But what if I wanted a family?”

Sirun Do’s gills fluttered in laughter. “You are a clone. Why would you need a family?”

CT-7567’s breathing accelerated, and Nala Se moved toward the panic button. Not all of the prospective donors had responded well to the revelation that they were sterile.

“You are the intellectual property of Kaminoan cloners,” she said again, appealing to his, admittedly fragile, sense of logic. “It is the matter of a moment’s work to manipulate sterility into the genome. Far easier to track POWs and MIAs than to track the emissions of four million men.”

This didn’t seem to soothe CT-7567. He sat on the edge of the table, his hand once more cupped protectively over his genitalia. His other hand was in a fist, and it shook with leashed violence. He breathed through the stress sequence. When he was done, his fist loosened, and he raised his head. His expression was utterly blank. “Let’s get on with this,” he said.

Nala Se was glad he had decided to see reason. She was uneasy, however, by his eyes. They were Human eyes, small and difficult to read, but she had no difficulty reading them now. Despair, yes, and humiliation also, but beneath them, blazing hotter than Kamino’s weak sun, was a star’s worth of anger. She shivered. Despicable, violent creatures. She would be glad when the war was over and she could leave Humans behind.

***

END

**Author's Note:**

> If it's any comfort, I imagine Cody is waiting for Rex and they have a hug session afterwards.


End file.
